Spilman's Method
by Blazil
Summary: Nobody likes Spilman the repairman, except his assistant Isaacs. Given Spilman's attitude, it's no surprise. When he encounters twin Xenomorphs, secured inside a restricted section of the base, he finds new meaning to his life. As a non-scientist, but a curious person nonetheless, he develops an unorthodox method on how to interact with the creatures and live to tell the tale.
1. The encounter

**This story is primarily written for entertainment purposes. All copyrights belong to their respective owners.**

**Note that English is not my first language and so I do not claim to have written an error-free text. Nevertheless, over the years I have written a lot of fiction in English. So I hope to be always improving my skills.**

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**Chapter 1: The encounter**

"Spilman?" an older man's impatient voice asked from beyond a thin wall. "Spilman, what rock are you hiding under this time?"

"Right here." a most bored and indifferent man's voice replied.

The first man pressed a button on the door controls. This promptly caused the door to slide open and disappear into one of the walls. Next, the man found himself inside a small, poorly lit room. He could not see the back wall, for it was obscured by an abnormally thick cloud of what appeared to be blue smoke.

"Goddamn, son." he said, sounding mostly annoyed, but also with a hint of pity in his voice. "Are you testing the sprinkler system, or what?" He waved his hands several times in an attempt to clear the smoke away.

"The sprinklers are fine. I just turned them off in this room. There's no need for them while I'm here." the same indifferent voice from before explained.

The thick blue curtain of smoke was dissipating somewhat, now that the door was open. Spilman's face slowly came into view, as did the overfull ashtray near him. He was sitting at the large table in the center of the room. The pile of ash in the tray still seemed to be smoldering.

Spilman was in his early forties, but had more wrinkles than average. He had unkempt black hair almost reaching his shoulders. The bald topside of his head was mostly obscured by the cap he wore, with the company logo prominently visible. A cigarette was in the corner of his mouth. His brown eyes and bushy eyebrows complemented the rugged appearance.

Spilman could now confirm that it was indeed Jacobs who had entered. His red face, short white hair, and stocky figure were unmistakable. However, he had already recognized the voice the moment the man had begun speaking.

Jacobs folded his arms. "Is that so, huh? Well you can switch them back on now. I'm here to tell you you're expected in the Lab within the hour."

"So what, those science bozos have you running errands now? Does the facility admin really have nothing better to do?" Spilman wondered out loud, with an overdone hand gesture.

Jacobs slowly shook his head and then shrugged. "I'm here because I am trying to help you. No-one wants anything to do with you. That should be obvious by now. If you don't show up, they'll have one more excuse to kick your ass off this planet. There is only so much I can do."

"I don't recall having signed up for therapy." Spilman said, pretending to miss the point of Jacobs' little speech.

"Just check your damn messages. If I knew you did, I wouldn't have come here." Jacobs reacted gruffly, before turning around and walking out. He didn't even close the door behind him.

"Asshole." Spilman mumbled to himself, as he stood up. He put a lid on the ashtray and proceeded to a wall console to turn the air conditioning back on. As he was gathering his tools, the smoke cleared from the room. Just before he left, he turned the sprinkler sensors back on. "Safety first." he cynically said to no-one in particular.

Down the corridor, Spilman met up with his colleague, Isaacs. The latter appeared to have finished preparing the hardware cart, since he was already driving it out of their workshop.

Isaacs was short of height, but broad-shouldered with a trained physique. He had a bald head, a nondescript face with grey eyes and a gold earring in his left ear. He was a synthetic, but this fact wasn't immediately obvious to most.

"So you got the memo after all? I didn't think you would ever start reading your messages." Isaacs said with a smile, after stopping the cart it front of Spilman.

"Drop it." Spilman responded, not being in the mood for his poor attempt at humor. "Jacobs informed me. Any idea why they shifted the schedule?"

"Who knows? Who cares? We have work, isn't that enough?" Isaacs noted brightly. Spilman figured he might have a point with his philosophy. After all, there wasn't much else to look forward to on this planet.

He liked his job, and Isaacs was content with being his assistant. Really, what more could a man ask for? Spilman snickered to himself, but deep down he didn't really think there was anything funny about the situation.

For the first time since their arrival here, their work assignment would take them to the far side of the outpost. They had never gone there, because they normally had no business there. Also, it was a restricted area. Apparently, there was some low-key research going on there.

As to why Weyland-Yutani was funding research here, Spilman and Isaacs could only guess. The primary function of this outpost was to relay interstellar communications between Thedus, in the Epsilon Reticuli system, to a group of relatively isolated Outer Rim systems that were nearer to the galactic core. It didn't seem like anybody could do a whole lot of research in this small and insignificant outpost.

Spilman had put his toolkit onto the cart, and was now walking beside it as Isaacs slowly drove towards their destination. The cart was long, narrow, and electrically propelled. They were able to maneuver it through the outpost without much effort. Most doors and junctions were wide enough to accommodate it, and Jacobs ran a strict policy of keeping the corridors freely passable.

Of course, Jacobs hadn't arranged this for them specifically. The supply logistics guys also had a cart, as did the cleanup guys. Their carts were not as fancy, though. In a curious case of creativity, Isaacs had once spray-painted their cart in a kind of tiger stripe pattern. They had also upgraded the battery and the wheels, giving it a far higher top speed than what was allowed in these corridors. Now was not the time to demonstrate that speed, however.

They had just entered the service corridor that would take them to the research complex. This was the only way to get in and out of there, without stepping into the non-breathable atmosphere outside. The corridor looked newer and cleaner than what they were used to. The main complex had been built in 2117, but the research complex had been added much later. This corridor actually looked somewhat modern.

Up ahead, near the halfway point, was a security station. When they reached it someone called out.

"Stop. Do not move beyond the yellow line." one of the security guards barked. There were four of them in total. They were armed, but had their weapons holstered. Spilman had probably seen them in the mess hall multiple times; he didn't really care who they were.

Isaacs silently did what was asked. Spilman noticed that there was indeed a yellow line on the floor, making him snort. They were taking this very seriously indeed.

The lead guard, Bryant, a woman with red hair, proceeded with the inquiry. "Let's see what we have here. Name?"

"G.T. Spilman. Call me Geoffrey." Spilman said, while deliberately squinting, and pinching his cigarette between two fingers.

"Middle name?" she continued, unimpressed and frowning.

"Tyrannosaurus." he said, steel-faced, cigarette in hand. Isaacs started laughing out loud, maybe a little too loud. Spilman quickly looked at him, and formed a wide grin himself. It was quite a ridiculous question after all, since the lead guard probably had all their personal information displayed on the terminal.

Bryant promptly ruined their fun. "That's enough, gentlemen, or I'll have you sent down to the brig." she said quasi-politely. Spilman could see a twisted smile appear on her face that just as quickly disappeared again.

"Here's my ID." Spilman said, as he took his company badge that was hanging from the chest pocket of his blue jumpsuit. Even though she hadn't asked for it yet, Spilman knew that it was probably the next question he was going to get. After a brief inspection, she gave it back to him.

"Where were you born, Spilman?" she continued. Again, Spilman didn't see what the point of the question was. Nevertheless, he had enough patience left to answer it.

"Barnard's Star." he replied neutrally.

"Barnard's Star." Bryant repeated more slowly, seemingly in an attempt to spite him, by making it seem as if what he said wasn't matching up with what she was reading on the terminal.

Spilman didn't care about what would happen next, and decided to give an unsolicited elaboration. "Yeah, I'm from Barnard's Planet alright, born in Barnard's little old country, right there in Barnard's picturesque fishing village. You should go on holiday there sometime. Might help you ease down a bit."

Half expecting to be arrested for insolence by these security baboons, he was surprised that there was hardly any reaction at all from the lead guard.

"Lovely." she stated dryly. "Your business in this section of the facility?"

Finally she reached a subject that interested Spilman enough that he could be serious about it. "Video security system, upgrades and repair wherever needed. Our cart contains our tools, as well as replacements parts. Cameras, wiring, screens, support brackets, you name it. Screens in particular. I've got little four-inchers, nine-inchers, and even a…" he said before he was interrupted.

"Thank you. That will do." Bryant interjected. One of the other guards proceeded to scan Isaacs' badge and wrist. Spilman watched silently. He guessed synthetics didn't need to be interviewed for security reasons.

"He was manufactured at Wolf 359, in case you're interested." Spilman said to them, but no-one responded.

A short while later the cart had been scanned and they had been cleared to proceed past the security station. Here, there were several windows in the service corridor, which showed glimpses of the outside environment.

The sky was purple, with some spots more blue than others. Brown rock formations could be seen all around. Some moss and small plants, genetically modified and originating from Earth, grew nearby. There was no large vegetation such as trees, nor any signs of animal life. Suddenly, someone felt the need to interrupt the silence.

"What is it with you and other people?" Isaacs asked out of the blue. "I have never witnessed you having a positive conversation with anyone, women least of all. It is like you are angry with all of them."

"That's very insightful, coming from someone who hardly knows anything about being human." Spilman said, as he put out the stub of his cigarette in the cart-mounted ashtray. "Why don't you stick to driving and fixing stuff, hmm? And leave the philosophizing to me?" he continued, while he lit a new cigarette.

"Sure, because as a VidTech, you deal with existential questions daily." Isaacs responded. There it was again, another attempt at humor by using sarcasm. Spilman knew his assistant synthetic still needed to work on his inflection. Nevertheless, it appeared Isaacs knew him pretty well.

"More often than you think." Spilman mumbled, whilst staring at the purple sky outside. "You are right, you know."

Isaacs remained silent after the remark, which Spilman didn't mind. Perhaps he understood more about him than he let on.

Soon, they reached the door that would lead them to the research complex. Once it disappeared into the ceiling, they entered what appeared to be some kind of reception room. It was brightly lit, with a beige interior. There, they met with several scientists. Only one of them spoke: Dr. Morrison.

"Right. The VidTech crew. I trust you have been briefed on the requirements of the upgrades?" Dr. Morrison inquired in a very stately manner. She had black hair and dark skin and was about the same age as Spilman.

"Yup, got all the parts right here. Just tell us where you need 'em." Spilman told her, putting effort into sounding like her polar opposite.

"Follow me. And don't mind the locks on the doors. We always close them behind us when we enter the heart of the facility. It is simply a precaution." she said unnecessarily slowly, as she turned around and walked to a side-door.

"Really… well how about that." Spilman replied, as he squinted again. Morrison's right jacket sleeve was hanging limp. There didn't appear to be an arm inside there.

The three of them went deeper into the facility. Like Morrison had said, each door that closed behind them was immediately locked remotely. Each green light went out, and its red counterpart lighted up.

"In case of an evacuation alarm, please use the code 1516 to open the nearest emergency exit. There are emergency helmets located near the exits. I assume you have been trained on their usage?" Morrison continued in the same slow talking pace.

"Affirmative." Isaacs answered, when Spilman didn't respond quickly enough.

Of course Spilman knew how to use an emergency helmet. Those things could provide a person with breathable air in an unsuitable atmosphere for a small amount of time. He was far more intrigued by the unorthodox protocol of having to use an access code to open the emergency exits.

"Okay. We are almost there. One more thing." Morrison said, as she stopped and turned around to face them. "I hope you guys don't mind being watched while you do your job."

"We don't mind, ma'am." Spilman responded confidently. "But we need to shut down the entire video surveillance system in this sector for the duration of the upgrades. So unless you or anyone else is staying in here, you won't be able to keep an eye on us. I hope you don't mind."

Dr. Morrison smiled briefly, but didn't respond to Spilman's explanation. She simply informed them about the four security points around a central chamber. These four points were currently unoccupied, as security was being handled remotely for the next few hours. The upgrades were to be done at these four locations. After having given this elaboration, she left via the way they had come in, typing in a code to get the door open.

Moving on to the first security point, something dawned on Spilman, and he promptly shared his thoughts with Isaacs. "Wait a sec, she didn't give us the code to get out of here once we're done. I doubt it's the same as the evac code."

"It is not the same. It is 8832. I saw her type it in." Isaacs answered brightly, as if there wasn't anything fishy going on here whatsoever.

"You saw it through her back?" Spilman asked, incredulously.

"Arm movements relative to the keypad."

"Impressive… and thanks… but enough dicking around. Let's get to work."

Spilman and Isaacs entered the first security point. It was a room with black walls and minimal lighting. There were two desks outfitted with built-in terminals and a wall filled with monitors. There were, however, still some blind plates in the monitor bank, so there was room for expansion.

For the first time Spilman could see what had to be the research subject of the facility and the reason for all the security measures. There were three large windows, which provided a view of a dimly lit circular inner chamber. One could look through the chamber and see the other three security points from here.

In the center of the chamber was a pile of rocks with moss on them. It looked like these had been taken from outside. Beside the pile was a black mass lying on the ground. Spilman had to let his eyes adjust for a moment. It was more than just a mass. Sections of it were shiny; the ceiling lights were being reflected. In other places it had a most curious surface pattern, like it was mechanical.

There was something else also. Something black was protruding from the ceiling inside the chamber. It was leaking fluid. Then it disappeared without sound; pulling back into the ceiling vent.

Meanwhile, Isaacs was turned away, and dutifully taking out the necessary tools and parts from the cart's various compartments. Spilman grabbed his shoulder.

"There is something curious going on here. There's something in there." he said to Isaacs as he turned the latter's shoulder to get him to look at the chamber.

"I thought you said we had to get to work?" Isaacs replied with a questioning look.

"Just look at this, man. It's hard to describe." Spilman said, almost sounding hypnotized.

Something long and thin uncurled from another hole in the ceiling. It appeared to have bony ridges all along it. At the tip, there was a kind of pointy blade.

"What is that, a scorpion?" Spilman wondered out loud. He began to subconsciously chew on his cigarette.

The thing pulled itself back into the vent. Next, a black domed thing appeared. Two clawed hands accompanied it. More and more of it slowly became visible. The beast then showed itself fully, crawling completely out the vent. It was the size of a man, but it managed to defy gravity by walking on the ceiling like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The long curly thing appeared to be its tail. It was attached to a sleek body with four limbs. The head was shaped like a cigar; at least that was the first thing that came to Spilman's mind anyway.

It moved itself from the ceiling to the nearest wall, and then onto the floor. It happened in such an elegant and graceful fashion that Spilman was completely mesmerized.

The creature then turned to face the window, and began to stare at them, showing its silvery teeth, and drooling seemingly continuously. Nobody said anything for a time. Spilman slowly moved closer to the window.

"Beautiful. Simply amazing. Where do you suppose it keeps its eyes?" he inquired towards Isaacs.

"It seems to me it doesn't have any." Isaacs replied without any discernable emotion. "Nevertheless, it seems to be able to detect our presence."

"Yeah… and it probably wants to take a chunk out of us." Spilman continued. He showed neither signs of worry, nor a hint of fear when he said this. He was fascinated above all else.

It dawned on him that the black mass lying on the ground was another one of these creatures. Looking at it now, he could discern that it was curled up on the ground, with its knees against its chest, arms around its legs, and tail forming a partial circle around itself.

As if on cue, the creature that had come from the ceiling crawled over to the other one on all fours. Spilman got a good look at the apparent tubes sticking out of its back. Its hind legs appeared to be double jointed.

He wasn't sure what it was doing, but it moved the front of its head close to the face of the other one. Within moments, the second one awakened, albeit slowly. It seemed to be taking all the time in the world to unfurl itself, as if it was lazy and didn't like being disturbed by its counterpart.

Now there were two creatures staring at them. Isaacs also approached the windows. He inspected the barrier from top to bottom. "This central chamber appears to be suspended and structurally separate from the rest of the facility. Everything combined, the windows are at least four layers thick." he noted.

"Not without reason, I suspect. I think that's where Morrison's arm went." Spilman speculated, pinching his cigarette.

"We should not forget that we still have a job to do." Isaacs reminded him. Spilman sighed, but concurred.

Spilman started by shutting down the video surveillance system via one of the desk terminals. When it refused one of the last steps due to another missing code, he took one of the devices that Isaacs had set onto the desk for him.

It was a rectangular device, battery powered, with a small green-screen CRT monitor and some turn knobs. It was heavy enough that it had to be put on a steady surface to operate it. After plugging a cable into the back of the terminal, he turned some knobs on the device. The static on the screen went away, and two columns of green numbers on a black background appeared. Every two seconds or so, a new line of text appeared at the bottom, making the whole number matrix shift up.

Despite being seemingly random numbers, they told Spilman enough. He managed to come up with an override code, even though the exact code wasn't readable on the small screen. It appeared he knew the algorithm and had worked out the code inside his head, using the numbers on the screen as inputs.

The job they had been assigned included replacing faulty monitors, expanding the existing banks, upgrading the signal hubs and replacing the cameras with more advanced types. As Isaacs and Spilman were working, the two creatures followed their moves with great interest.

Spilman was distracted several times by their presence, most notably when replacing one of the cameras. The system was set up as such that the cameras could be serviced from the outside, because they were positioned inside the outer wall. The inner wall had a transparent section where the camera lens would be pointed at, so it couldn't be reached by the creatures.

While replacing the camera, the creature that had come from the ceiling started walking on the wall again. It seemed to be sniffing around right near the spot where the old camera had just disappeared. Spilman didn't know if it was really sniffing or not. He couldn't hear anything through the barrier.

Isaacs wasn't in sight. He was currently in one of the hallways. Spilman saw his chance.

"Look at you move. You're like a cross between a lizard and a wasp. With a bit of scorpion added to the mix." he said to the creature, as he lighted a new cigarette. "Would you help me… to end it all?"

He got very close to the window, pressing his body and his face against it. The creature walked over him, but he couldn't feel any vibrations. First, its clawed hands passed over him, followed by its equally clawed feet. Finally, the sweeping tail slid over the reinforced glass.

Spilman felt strange, like the creature was giving him energy somehow. He had to make it last. But they wouldn't allow him to stay here once the job was done. So he had to arrange something. He already had an idea. Turning back to the wiring hub, he started applying some modifications of his own.

Once the VidTech crew was done, and after the video system had been turned back on, Dr. Morrison appeared again. This time she walked all the way into one of the security points. No doubt had she seen Spilman and Isaacs quietly sitting there on one of her remote monitors.

Spilman heard her enter, so he looked over his shoulder. He was just in time to see her flinch. Looking back around, he saw the two creatures now standing on their hind legs. Both had their jaws opened, showing a most curious set of inner jaws on their tongues. One of them was furiously clawing away at the window, actually managing to inflict some minor damage to it.

"Whoa… they must definitely like you." Spilman joked, somewhat surprised by the creatures' sudden aggressiveness, but not really all that alarmed.

"Not really, Spilman." said Dr. Morrison calmly as she regained her composure. "I see you've met Lizzie and Ripper. I think they like you… most unusual indeed. I'd like to have a word with you. "


	2. The smell of fear

**This story is primarily written for entertainment purposes. All copyrights belong to their respective owners.**

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**Chapter 2: The smell of fear**

Spilman was in Dr. Morrison's office, sitting comfortably in a chair opposite her desk, with a cigarette in hand. The chair was quite fancy. It had a headrest, excellent padding, and was made from what appeared to be real leather. It even had built-in reading lights.

Dr. Morrison, who was sitting opposite him, had just answered his question. He had wondered how they were keeping the creatures confined if they started scratching the windows, like one had done just now.

Apparently there was a safety grid surrounding the chamber, as in a literal grid, that turned red-hot in sections when the sensors detected any attacks. The creatures hated it, and when it turned hot they would keep well away from it. The grid formed a complete cage, which also included the windows. Now that Spilman thought about it, he had noticed some kind of reinforcing grid in the window glass.

Spilman pulled the corners of his mouth down, so that his expression reminded of a sturgeon or another kind of fish. "Must be expensive." he said. "But then again, so is this chair. I guess the budget's no problem over on this side, huh doc?"

Dr. Morrison stared blankly at him. Spilman could tell he was starting to annoy her. He was quite pleased with himself. Nevertheless, he decided to get a bit more serious. After all, the sooner this conversation was finished, the sooner he could get out of here, and check if his modifications to the video system really worked as he thought.

"So doc, what exactly _are_ these beings? Lizzie and Ripper?" he asked, doing his best to sound as intrigued as possible.

"You call them beings. Most people would call them things." Morrison replied with a hint of curiosity.

"That doesn't seem right." Spilman continued. "You even named them. They are far more graceful than any 'thing' I have ever seen."

"Even so, you cannot deny that they are monstrous." Morrison insisted. Spilman was beginning to think she had already pigeonholed these creatures, and was now trying to sell her opinion to him as an objective fact.

"My old granny was monstrous. I see no resemblance at all between the two." Spilman said, dead serious, before realizing there might be something else Morrison was referring to. "Wait, you're talking about the lack of eyes. Well, even something like that doesn't impress me anymore."

For the first time, Morrison looked genuinely curious. Spilman then said one word: "Arcturians."

He shifted in his seat, and moved his face a little closer to her as he pinched his cigarette in-between two fingers. "Three internships on Arcturus. You'd think I'd realized after the first day why there was such a large offer of positions there." he began.

When Morrison remained silent, he continued. "Well… I have to say I almost shat my pants the first time I met one of 'em. But they grow on you, and faster than you'd think." Spilman revealed.

Dr. Morrison now looked a bit disappointed. "You have experience with a sapient alien species. That does explain something. Not everyone would dare." she replied.

Spilman shrugged. He wasn't everyone. He didn't care what she thought about this.

"I'll keep this brief, Spilman." Morrison suddenly announced. "Lizzie and Ripper are aliens, but I think you already knew that. Xenomorph XX121 to be precise.

"So… Ripper is the one responsible for that?" he said, while he gave a nod in the direction of Morrison's limp hanging right sleeve.

"Lizzie, actually." she responded soberly. "Ripper once tore a man in two."

Spilman already knew they could be aggressive, judging by their reaction to Morrison's sudden appearance. The fact they had the ability to rip a man in two was not that farfetched, if they could also rip an arm off. But this reveal, which seemed to be meant to intimidate or scare him, did nothing more than greatly enhance the respect he already felt for these beings. And it reminded him that these science bozos had the audacity to lock them up and experiment on them.

Spilman raised his eyebrows slightly, before continuing with other questions. "So, Lizzie is female? And Ripper is male? And you are trying to get them to breed, or what?"

"They were born together. One could say they are twin sisters. So no, not really." Morrison elaborated calmly. "But that's hardly the only reason. They do not breed the way mammals do. They inherit traits from their parent, which we believe also includes gender. Nevertheless, this kind of pseudo-gender does not actually play a role in their species' reproductive cycle or their social structure."

Spilman had some trouble digesting all these biological terms. To mask his confusion, especially with the last few sentences, he tried to change the topic. "Isn't all this supposed to be classified, or something? Why are you telling me?"

"I could probably make up some story, but the truth is: no one is ever going to believe the word of a sorry bum." she said, straight faced without any hint that she was joking.

Spilman chuckled. He had initially appreciated her honesty and openness, but he had not expected her to be this honest, not to mention rude. It didn't quite fit in with her stately manner. He guessed she was even more arrogant than he had imagined.

"Since we're being this honest, why don't you tell me why I'm really here?" he replied, while widening his eyes and baring his yellow teeth. This made him look somewhat deranged; perhaps even threatening.

Morrison pulled away from him a little. She didn't lose her composure, however, and steadily replied to his question. "You have seen them. You know what they are, and what they can do. Yet you still do not fear them. Why is that?"

"The Arcturians are just as beastly, but not nearly as graceful nor as beautiful as the Xenomorphs. Why would I fear these perfect beings?" he answered, whilst shrugging.

"Do you have a death wish, Spilman?" Morrison asked with a frown, now fully leaning back in her chair.

"No more than you, doc." he replied, while giving another nod at her limp hanging sleeve. "Did I tell you my great-grandfather was a lion tamer? No? Well, no-one of the family ever followed in his footsteps. Not yet."

Morrison nodded slowly without verbally responding to his statements. There was a brief silence, before she thanked him curtly for his time.

Spilman got up and, in full view, let the stub of his cigarette fall to the floor. He put it out with his sneaker before making a sarcastic little bow and leaving the room.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, he was back in his sitting room. Once he had turned off the air conditioning and the sprinklers again, he lit another cigarette.

"Alright." he said to himself. "Let's see what we can cook up."

There were all kinds of seemingly discarded electronics inside the relatively small room. Small devices, medium sized ones, and even one as large as a washing machine. Also, various bare electronics boards and cables were scattered about. Most of the stuff was in half open storage boxes or on shelves. Some of it was lying directly on the floor under the large table that was standing in the center of the room.

Spilman took a portable CRT monitor from one of the top shelves. It was a dusty old thing, decorated with the classic blue colored winged sun logo of the company.

"The series C31 never dies." he said to it with a smile as he carefully took it onto his lap as if it was a pet. If only he had some more of these good quality screens. But he had to make do.

There were other things he needed also, and not all of them could be found in this room. He put the C31 onto the table, and went into the corridor.

This section of the base was primarily being used to house their VidTech workshop. It also provided some modest living quarters. Superfluous rooms were simply used for general storage. Throughout the years, the company had been steadily decreasing the number of employees assigned to this outpost.

As the interstellar relay equipment was being upgraded, fewer people were needed to operate and maintain it. Therefore there was no housing shortage around here. Though the building interior was decrepit and grimy, this particular corridor including all the rooms attached to it was his and Isaacs'.

Spilman went into another small room adjacent to the first one. This one was stacked to the ceiling with old equipment. There was only a narrow walking path left open. Here, he gathered a couple more monitors, some signal hubs, a keyboard, and a lot of cables.

After bringing all of this to his sitting room, he went into the workshop to get his model 55-JR decoder. This was the same one that had helped him find out the shutdown code of the video surveillance system in the Xenomorphs' cell.

This device, known as a Jolly Roger, was able to crack or bypass different kinds of electronic security measures. The device was often only able to do the initial steps. Therefore its effective use demanded an operator with a keen eye and with knowledge of the security algorithms to come up with the definitive answer one was seeking.

Using or showing off a Jolly Roger, as the nickname suggested, was a dead giveaway that someone was practicing illegal activities. However, this was not so for the uninitiated. It was such an obscure and dated device that no one but the most dedicated technical enthusiast could recognize one nowadays. Not even the modern security scanners were able to identify it as illegal.

Spilman used this to his advantage. He never made any effort to hide the device, as he was hoping to find people who understood what it was. No-one on this planet except Isaacs fitted into that category, though. This said something about the general lack of interest the WY employees at this outpost had in his line of work. They took for granted that he was always there to fix their problems. They did not even care to understand how he managed to do the things he did.

The interior of the workshop was much like the other storage rooms, except it was larger overall; the ceiling being twice as high. There was a window in the back, through which the purple sky could be seen. In the distance, there were three very large radio telescope dishes.

The workshop provided multiple workbenches and housed tools that were too large to fit into the transport cart. The remainder of the chamber was filled up with storage cabinets. Isaacs was busy using a very fine soldering iron to modify an electronics board. He paused momentarily when he detected Spilman entering and taking the 55-JR out of its cabinet.

"I might need that later. Were you planning on returning it any time soon?" he responded, sounding mildly irritated, while pointing the soldering iron at the 55-JR.

"Not really. Come by an hour from now. I'll show you something worthwhile." Spilman replied mysteriously, without looking up.

Spilman spent the next hour setting up what looked like his own security station inside his sitting room. He stacked monitors on top of one another, putting the Jolly Roger on the top of a smaller stack. He also created a separate stack of signal hubs. After applying all the necessary cabling, he placed the keyboard on the desk in front of all the hardware.

Next, he pried the cover off a compartment in one of the walls. There were all kinds of wiring in there. He rerouted some of it, using splitter boxes wherever needed, until he had one cable that he could plug into the setup on his desk.

He finally sat down onto his chair and started typing on the keyboard. This particular keyboard did not use a layout with normal letters. Instead, there were various colored pictograms printed on the keys.

The Jolly Roger sprang to life first, and began displaying two columns of green numbers with a black background on its small CRT screen. This was followed by activity on one of the regular monitors, which began displaying a command line interface. After typing in some more commands and security codes, the remaining screens started showing something as well.

Three screens now displayed three different video feeds. The images were slightly distorted, but after Spilman adjusted some knobs on each of the monitors, they became quite clear. They were in full color as well. The series C31 unit provided an especially clear and high resolution picture. He could now look straight into the prison that was holding the Xenomorphs.

"There you are." he said to himself, almost in a whisper. His eyes were glued to the screens as he typed in additional commands to manipulate the video feeds. He was able to display about six different viewing angles, but not all of them at once.

This strange feeling as if he was receiving energy from the Xenomorphs was now returning. He silently commended himself on his quick thinking whilst he had had the chance to modify the local signal hub.

"How boring it must be for you… in there." he mumbled as he watched one of them, probably Ripper, lying curled up on the floor seemingly asleep once again. The other one, Lizzie, was standing on her hind legs and seemed to be glaring at a particular point outside the cell. Spilman couldn't make out what it was.

Several minutes later, Spilman heard someone approaching the door. He instantly pressed a single key, causing all screens to start displaying various sinusoid waveforms. Shortly afterwards, Isaacs entered.

Spilman noticed him looking at the setup with a slight frown, before he commented on it.

"So you're doing signal analysis again. That's very worthwhile. Isn't this something you can practically do in your sleep?" Isaacs dryly joked.

"Always that tone." Spilman said calmly while slightly shaking his head. "Let's hear what you have to say after seeing this."

He promptly pressed some keys, and the video feeds returned. Isaacs immediately moved a bit closer to the relatively small screens.

"That is illegal." he proclaimed with a concerned tone.

"Using a Jolly Roger is illegal. But you don't mind _that_." Spilman said, slightly offended due to Isaacs' hypocrisy.

"That is different." Isaacs insisted. "You are deliberately accessing restricted video feeds of classified experiments."

"It's not my problem they created a physical data link between the two sections of the base. They should've known better." Spilman replied indifferently.

"Nevertheless, it is your responsibility to report it." Isaacs continued. Spilman didn't understand why his assistant couldn't see the brilliance of it. Did he really have to bring up laws and regulations at a time like this?

"You know what was illegal? Me rescuing you. Yet here you are, still going about your business because of that illegal action." Spilman blurted out. He didn't know if he meant to be so blunt about it. But he felt he had to say something drastic to convince Isaacs not to report this to anyone.

Isaacs turned to leave the room, and was already halfway towards the door when Spilman attempted to do something about it.

"Look, I didn't mean…" he started, but Isaacs cut him off. The latter had come to a halt at the door.

"You don't have to apologize. I might not agree with what you are doing, but I'm sure you have good reasons. You admire the creatures. You want to learn more about them. It is your business, and I will not put an end to it. Not unless you agree with me." Isaacs said earnestly. Without any more words being said, he left the room.

* * *

The following week, Spilman spent all his available free time observing the Xenomorphs on his setup. He also upgraded the system to be able to decode and reproduce accompanying sounds from within the cell.

Meanwhile, he did his real job whenever and wherever he needed to do it, and Isaacs was as content as ever to be his assistant. However, Spilman found himself becoming increasingly distracted from his daily routine. He was no longer that focused on antagonizing the rest of the base personnel. Rather, he was becoming indifferent towards them. Whereas first he liked to annoy people, now he genuinely started to believe they were no longer worthy of his time.

Of course, Jacobs thought he had finally managed to get through to him. To Spilman, it even looked like the man had adopted a new gait to celebrate this victory. His way of walking seemed to communicate that he thought very highly of himself, and that everyone needed to see it.

Spilman had started to keep notes on what he was seeing on the monitors. He didn't know where this endeavor would lead him, but his feeling told him he was doing important work. No-one would understand if they were to find out, so he put effort into keeping it all a secret. For starters, he repaired the lock on his sitting room door.

Also, he spread rumors that Isaacs and he were upgrading their hardware cart again, and that they would be willing to race the other work crews. This, of course, got their attention.

Noser was particularly getting worked up about it. He was one of the greasy logistics guys, who also had a knack for mechanical engineering. Spilman didn't know if Noser was his real name, or just a nickname; either way it fitted him. His nose was not abnormally large; it was just that it protruded quite far from his face, far beyond average. He also had a tendency to stick it where it didn't belong.

If Spilman could keep someone like nosy Noser in the dark about what was really going on, he might just be able to keep studying the prison and its occupants, until he understood just what they were and why they were so adept at hijacking his attention.

Early on, he presumed that the Xenomorphs could see, but that their eyes were obscured, or located in a nontraditional place. While attempting to define a method on how one would face such an alien, he had initially written down that one shouldn't stare at them for too long. Soon, however, he could conclude from his observations that this was simply an ungrounded statement. He had subsequently crossed it off his list.

The scientists were devising all kinds of ways of triggering the Xenomorphs. They would introduce various new objects into the cell, which they brought up via a floor elevator. Most of the time, these things elicited no response from them, other than a brief inspection. Afterwards they would just ignore the objects.

They didn't like heat, this much was clear. The grid was keeping them in check when they got angry at the scientists, which happened a lot. This wasn't the only security measure, though. Some kind of gas or mist could also be released from the ceiling into the cell. There would always be a distinctive sound before it would be released. It was either its chemical composition, or its temperature which caused the Xenomorphs to retreat from it. Spilman had a gut feeling it was the latter.

More and more it seemed to Spilman that sounds played a pivotal part in their daily life. They hissed, growled and shrieked at their enemies, their surroundings, and occasionally at each other. Spilman theorized they might be like Arcturians, in that they used sound to 'see' things. Sudden loud noises, such as from the gas release system, or from the floor doors, seemed to trigger them. Therefore Spilman wrote down some statements in his method regarding sound.

The scientists occasionally brought up butchered meat via the floor elevator. The aliens didn't seem to like it very much, but seemed to be aware of what it was. They didn't inspect it on first appearance like they would do with other objects. It was like they smelled its stench from wherever they were at the time, and were hardly impressed.

Ripper, who was inert most of the time, hadn't touched any meat since Spilman had started his observations. Lizzie, who was often crawling around the cell, had on one occasion taken a few bites out of it. Also curious was his observation that they didn't appear to require any water for sustenance.

A live ox had been brought up at a certain point. This was when things had gotten really interesting. The ox, already stressed due to being brought up in the cramped elevator, soon became spooked by what were two obvious killers in its presence. As the animal did a futile attempt to flee, Lizzie dropped down from the ceiling and bit into its neck, creating a fountain of blood.

At about the same time, Ripper leapt from behind the pile of rocks and buried her claws into the ox's abdomen. After the ox swiftly went down and bled out, they almost as quickly lost interest. They didn't even feed on it.

The most interesting thing that had occurred since Spilman had started watching was when one of the scientists apparently volunteered to be brought up via the elevator. The man was surrounded by what might best be described as a shark cage. He was also wearing something that reminded of a bomb suit.

At first, the man remained confident in the ability of these implements to protect him. The Xenomorphs initially stayed well away from the cage, only hissing at it. After about a minute they began to draw closer. The man appeared to become nervous, as the aliens were approaching him from two different sides. He didn't know where to look, and alternated his position rapidly. The closer the aliens got, the faster their pace became, and the more scared the man got.

It wasn't long before they were clawing and biting at the cage. By now, the man was screaming. This was when the elevator started going down again. The cage slowly disappeared into the floor as both Xenomorphs climbed on top of it. They managed to damage it, but not enough to be able to attack the man. Eventually, they were forced off by the closing doors, which were unusually thick and heavy. They could either move or be crushed, so they wisely chose the former.

* * *

Spilman had not fully finished writing his method yet by the next Friday afternoon. He was obliged to come into the main operations center for Jacobs' weekly speech. This was the place that could be considered the outpost's equivalent of a spacecraft's bridge. There was a large window that provided a view of the purple sky and the curiously shaped rock formations of the planet's surface. Also, there were other sections of the outpost visible, most notably the three large dishes.

The personnel of the outpost, minus the scientists and their band of guards, were all present. They had gathered underneath a banner that hung from the ceiling. It displayed the name of the star and planet they were currently residing at: Alpha Corvi, JT-202. There were 38 people in total. Spilman didn't need to count them. They would all be here each and every Friday. It was always the same. And Jacobs would always spout the same nonsense over and over again. There he was once more, red-faced, standing boastfully, congratulating them on yet another successful week.

While Jacobs was loudly announcing this weeks' accomplishments, such as the refurbishment of the basement toilets, Spilman let his eyes wander. Soon, his mind wandered as well. There they all were, like a herd of sheep, comfortable in their little base, which was a bastion of civilization in the deep reaches of space. What would happen if one of the Xenomorphs would visit them? A stampede would probably occur. The fear would be in the air. One would be able to taste it.

Suddenly, Spilman felt as if he was shot through the forehead by a bullet made of an ice cold substance, like frozen nitrogen. This bullet seemed to clear and refresh his tired mind completely. He realized that the man, the scientist, had invited the Xenomorphs to attack him. The man's encounter with them had escalated when he had broken down. His fear of death was what had made them go berserk. Morrison feared them as well. She had even asked why Spilman didn't and if he had a death wish. She must have been on to something.

These beings smell fear. They feed on fear. If they cannot feed on your fear of death, what will happen then? Perhaps it was time to put his method into practice.


	3. Facing the music

**This story is primarily written for entertainment purposes. All copyrights belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Facing the music**

Isaacs was the last one to arrive. Sitting behind the wheel of the long and narrow hardware cart of the VidTech crew, he entered a broad and brightly lit corridor, which had windows on both sides. The other crews were there already, along with their own comparable vehicles.

The logistics crew, Noser and Trejo, had a cart which was painted black and dark green. It was a bit wider, with a tow hitch that allowed one or more trailers to be attached. This ability was not being utilized today, however.

The cleanup crew, consisting of Fujioka and Herman had a cart that was very similar to Spilman's and Isaacs' rig, except it had been left unpainted. It did, however, sport shiny gold colored hubcaps.

As Isaacs was turning and reverse parking the cart behind the starting line, the other crews jeered and joked. They had no real reason to criticize his driving, for it was flawless. They just liked to make noise as usual. Trejo booed him loudly. Herman called the maneuver "sexy" and other such terms in a clearly mocking tone. Fujioka, the only woman present, threw some used paper coffee cups at him, which she took from the garbage compartment from her crew's cart.

Noser was eying Spilman expectantly. The latter was leaning against a wall, cigarette pinched between two fingers, squinting at nothing in particular.

"Oi, Spilman!" Noser started loudly, despite him being only a few meters away. "I don't care what you claim to have been doing lately. There's absolutely no way that tiger bitch of yours is going to beat us." Despite the words that were coming out of his mouth and their tone, he maintained a very amiable expression, as if he enjoyed having a friendly rivalry.

Regardless of what his intentions were, Spilman was unimpressed and barely reacted. He snorted, briefly looked out of a window and then sauntered leisurely from where he was standing towards his and Isaacs' vehicle.

"My friends…" Spilman announced all of a sudden, while facing away from them. "I have something to say…"

Meanwhile, he tapped Isaacs on the shoulder, and nodded at something outside the window. Isaacs saw it, and gave a quick and subtle nod in reply. The others didn't see this however, because they were distracted by Spilman's unusual attempt at starting a speech.

"Save your eulogy for when you're dead. I don't care what you got to say." Trejo replied gruffly, with his arms folded.

"Wait, maybe he wants us to get him a coffin? Can somebody get this man a large cardboard box?" Herman joked, quickly looking around at the others as if he was actually being semi-serious about his request.

"That would be pointless. His corpse would just roll it up into a giant cigar, and smoke it. What we need is a man-sized ashtray." Fujioka answered with a straight face. It seemed to be a joke on the surface, but she had pity in her voice when she said it.

"Alright, alright, enough of this crap. I say let the man speak." Noser interjected, trying to take on the role of the reasonable man.

"What you need is a really good excuse for being in this corridor." Spilman said as he grabbed tightly onto Isaacs' chair. "Because Jacobs is coming."

Even before he had finished speaking, Isaacs stepped on the pedal, making the VidTech cart shoot forwards.

"Oi, that's cheating!" Noser yelled as the vehicle raced to the other end of the corridor.

"He's not joking. There's Jacobs!" Fujioka shouted, while gesturing at the window. Jacobs and several guards could be seen through the transparent walls of another section of the outpost, making their way here.

"Damn it!" Herman called out as he jumped into the driver's seat of the cleanup cart. "What's he doing here? It was supposed to be bingo evening!"

As Isaacs and Spilman disappeared around the corner, Trejo roared: "Damn you, Spilman!"

Whilst they were speeding away, Spilman looked over his shoulder. No-one had yet appeared; likely they were simply too unprepared to make a quick getaway. Soon, he could hear the voice of Jacobs. Despite the reasonable distance already between them, it was quite clearly audible, yelling: "What THE DEVIL is going on here?!"

Both Isaacs and Spilman were guffawing as they came to a stop in a faraway corridor. When they finally fell silent, Isaacs wondered about something.

"Did they really deserve that?" he asked slightly concerned, apparently having second thoughts about it.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Did you deserve being pelted with cups?" Spilman answered, unconcerned. "It's not my fault Jacobs knew about it. Rumors travel even where you don't want them to go. And I did warn them he was coming. We could have just taken off without saying anything. It's their fault they're so slow."

"You have a point there." Isaacs admitted. "Nevertheless, will Jacobs not suspect our involvement?"

Spilman put the butt of his cigarette out in the cart-mounted ashtray, before replying nonchalantly. "All we were doing was standing in a corridor with our work carts. Is that illegal now? Jacobs fancies himself a cop about to apprehend some illegal street racers. He can screw himself. If he turns up, send him to me."

However, Jacobs did not confront them after this evening. He became preoccupied with a worrisome message sent by the Network of Weyland-Yutani. It appeared to him on his workstation, green letters on a black background:

**TO: JT-202 – INTCOM RELAY UNIT – 40229428 **

**FROM: NETWORK COMCON 04500 – WEYLAND YUTANI**

**ALL OPERATIONS ON JT-202 PLANNED TO CEASE END OF QUARTER  
ALL PERSONNEL TO BE EVALUATED FOR REASSIGNMENT  
QUINTILIS STATION PLANNED TO TAKE OVER ALL INTCOM RELAY FUNCTIONS IN PHASES  
PHASE 1 STARTING WK8619  
DECOMMISSION CREW ARRIVAL WK8618**

**END OF TRANSMISSION**

The message was announced the next day by Jacobs in a special gathering of all personnel in the main operations center. His face was uncommonly pale as he revealed the contents.

It meant that in about nine weeks there would no longer be any reason for them to be here. It came as an unwelcome surprise to pretty much everyone, judging by the murmurs and alarmed faces.

When the announcement was being made, Spilman silently mused about what the reasons could be. He was somewhat surprised by the abruptness of it, but then again he did see a relation with the unusual research going on with the Xenomorphs.

The decommission crew would arrive within one week from now. Everything would be going down the drain after that. Everyone here, including Spilman, would be forced to accept they were nothing but cog-wheels in the big machine. They could go along with the company, or go down the drain themselves. JT-202 had never been anyone's home; it had simply been a company asset. And now that asset was obsolete.

Spilman had no intention of becoming a mainstream cog-wheel again. Maybe he had once started out as one, but through his actions and his mindset he had deviated too far from that, even before having known about the Xenomorphs. This was one thing Jacobs was right about. He was far beyond the point of no return.

So he saw only one real option left for him: going inside the cell. If they would kill him, at least there would be no more misery. He would consider it an honor to be killed by such graceful beings. And if they would not kill him, then there would be a world of possibilities.

Luckily for Spilman, he did not need to come up with a plan on how to sneak past security. Another job came up, which would take him there anyway. This time some computer systems needed maintenance. These were located in a sub-level, unlike the video surveillance system they had attended to during their previous visit. He had a feeling this timing wasn't a coincidence.

As the final days passed before Spilman could do this job, it seemed as if the personnel of the base had been drained of all joy. Now that the end was near, nothing much seemed to matter anymore. Still, there were those who attempted to show how useful they could be to the company, in the hopes that this would yield them an advantage during their pending evaluation.

Jacobs wasn't around to take note of it, though. Shortly after making the announcement, he had disappeared, having allegedly locked and barricaded himself inside his office.

Spilman spent these final days going over what he had written down about the Xenomorphs. Based on what he could deduce from the video feeds, his conclusion was that smell was their primary sense, with hearing coming in second.

He had been saving the ash of his cigarettes in a big jar for several days, believing it would be useful for masking his smell. There was no way to tell if it would have any effect, but it was best he could come up with.

He was still sitting at his desk, observing the monitors for the last time, when Isaacs could be heard outside his door.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked impatiently. "I have prepared the cart with everything we need, except the model 55-JR." As usual, Isaacs couldn't wait to go to work.

It also appeared he didn't realize what Spilman had planned. The latter saw no need to inform him just yet, and replied: "Enough sitting around. Let's get on with this shit."

He also whispered to the screens on which Lizzie and Ripper were visible. "See you soon."

Then, he disconnected the Jolly Roger from his setup, causing the video feeds to be replaced by static. Next, he filled his jumpsuit pockets with as much cigarette ash as he could, without making the pockets bulge. He left the room, Jolly Roger in hand, not even bothering to power down the rest of the setup, or turning the sprinklers back on for that matter.

* * *

A short while later they were in the service corridor between the two sections of the outpost. Once again they had to stop in front of the yellow line. Bryant was there, same as last time.

Spilman had to answer some security questions again, but this time she wasn't so obnoxious about it. She seemed to be in a better mood. Spilman decided he wanted to know why.

"Good prospects, eh? So, you're going to turn mercenary, then?" Spilman suggested boldly.

"No need." she replied, unconcerned. "Just looking forward to leaving this brown ball behind."

Spilman didn't get any more out of her before he had to move on. He guessed that maybe Bryant and her team already were mercenaries, hence there was 'no need'.

Dr. Morrison wasn't there today to show them where they needed to go. Instead, there was a nervous little man called Wilson in a white lab coat. Spilman recognized the slightly pudgy and balding man as the one who had gone into the Xenomorphs' cell wearing that ridiculous bomb suit.

"J-j-just f-f-follow me, okay?" he stuttered, before leading the way. "So I g-g-guess you're f-f-familiar with our p-p-protocols?"

"No problem." Spilman announced loudly, while giving him a hard pat on the shoulder, causing him to flinch. "We know about the locks, the evacuation procedures, the emergency helmets, and so on. And we know about the aliens. Mind giving us the code?"

Wilson was momentarily lost for words, before eventually managing to form a coherent response. "… Oh… you mean t-t-the code. Sure."

As he proceeded to recite the codes for both the emergency doors and the regular doors, Spilman chuckled to himself. The mentioning of the word 'aliens' appeared to have an interesting effect on him. It seemed the man feared them so intensely that the mere thought of them was too much.

It was all irrelevant to Spilman, who believed that fear of the Xenomorphs was an invitation for them to disrespect you and see you as prey.

As Wilson led them to the sub-level where the job had to be done, they entered a corridor with windows to the outside. For the first time, Isaacs and Spilman could see what this part of the facility really was.

"That is an engine." Isaacs noted neutrally. "This is no ordinary ground building."

Spilman squinted outside for several seconds, and had to agree with him. It was pretty clear now what this facility was, and he made his thoughts promptly known. "It's a ship. And we're on a module attached to its docking arm."

Isaacs appeared to have reached the same conclusion, and elaborated further. "Yes, a CM-88B M-class star freighter. There are not many of those left."

"Damn… that thing must be close to 80 years old. Not even my old granny reached that age." Spilman reacted, being quite impressed.

"A-a-actually, it's been modified. I guess you could consider it a CM-88C now." Wilson said. He seemed to become somewhat less nervous when he had something to talk about which was not related to the aliens.

Soon, the ship disappeared from view as their path took them to a series of windowless chambers. Wilson pointed out where the mainframes were and then hurried away; disappearing through a door other than the one via which they had come in. All these doors locked themselves after closing, but this time they had at least been given the code.

The main room had grey walls and was reasonably well lit. Looking around, Spilman could see the shark cage partially hidden underneath a canvas in a corner. Some boxes had been stacked on top of it. It smelled unclean in here, like it was some kind of shed near a garbage dump.

In the center of the back wall, there was an opening. Beyond it appeared to be a kind of lifting platform, with a shaft above it. Spilman nodded slowly. This was all the confirmation he needed.

"Do me a favor, will you?" Spilman said abruptly. Isaacs was already taking out their tools from the cart.

"Of course. What is it?" Isaacs replied without looking up.

"Go back to our section of the outpost. Take a shortcut via the outside if you need to. Tell them to close and lock all outer doors and storm shutters. And make sure you join them inside before they do so." Spilman instructed him.

Isaacs promptly put down the tools he was holding, and stood up to face him. Confusion could quite clearly be read from his face.

"What is it then, a storm? The forecast didn't show anything." he said, looking somewhat concerned that Spilman was losing his mind.

"I'm going in _there_, you bald dummy." Spilman said while pointing at the elevator. "And I'm not sure how this is going to end."

Then it dawned on Isaacs what Spilman was really up to. He instantly looked like he had been punched in the face. "No." he replied firmly with a raised voice.

"Do you really think this is all a coincidence? Morrison wants to see what happens when I go in. And the Xenomorphs, they _need_ me to come in there." Spilman explained. Even he was somewhat surprised at the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"Nobody is forcing you to go in there. You don't owe anybody anything." Isaacs tried to reason with him.

"And you don't need to stop me." Spilman calmly pointed out.

This answer made Isaacs even more upset. He raised his voice further as he continued: "So you want me to leave you behind? How can you ask this of me? You didn't leave _me_ behind. You got yourself fired rescuing me. I owe my life to you, so it is my duty stop you from doing this!"

"My friend…" Spilman said as he put an arm around Isaacs' shoulder. "You have such potential. Why stay with a dead-end old bastard like me? Everyone dies sometime, but they don't always get to choose how. Let me have this choice before it's too late. "

Isaacs hung his head, resigned to the fact he couldn't talk Spilman out of this.

"I cannot change your mind. Instead, I will make sure WY takes the fall for this. That is what I will do." he said determinedly, before pulling Spilman into a tight hug.

Spilman had not expected such a thing, and froze momentarily. When his loyal assistant didn't appear to let go on his own, he found his voice again. "Okay, okay, that's enough. You've been a good friend. Now…let's get to work."

Once Isaacs let him go, Spilman briefly filled him in on what he had discovered about the senses of the Xenomorphs and that he had some ideas about how to affect those. He asked his friend to bring him a spray can of degreasing agent, the Jolly Roger, and a portable high frequency antenna.

As Isaacs was getting him these things, Spilman grabbed a handful of ash out the pockets of his jumpsuit. He smeared it onto face first and then onto the rest of his head and neck. Next, he smeared some on his forearms.

The can of degreasing agent was promptly emptied by Spilman onto his jumpsuit. The stuff had a very potent chemical smell and was not normally applied as a deodorant. Nevertheless, Spilman thought it was likely to have some kind of effect.

As the last step of the preparations, he took out a cigarette and lit it. At last he was ready. Spilman turned around, and walked over to the lifting platform. He carried the Jolly Roger by its handle, with the antenna and an extension cord lying on top of it. Once he stood near the middle, he turned around to face Isaacs, who spoke some final words to him.

"You've changed, you know. The old Spilman would never willingly walk into a death trap, knowing someone arranged this. Are you really going to die for their experiment?"

"Someone is." Spilman said calmly. He then hit the wall button that would cause the platform to be raised all the way to the top.

To be expected, a number of things went through Spilman's mind as the platform raised itself. At first, shards of the thought "dumb idea" popped up, but they were quickly overridden. He had no such thing as flashes of his life before his eyes. There wasn't really anything good to look back to, and this fact was certainly not what occupied him at this moment.

He had a definitive feeling that he was always meant to be here. He was in the exact right place at the exact right time. He couldn't have explained it any better than the phenomenon of the Xenomorphs seeming to be providing him with energy. They were more than creatures in a cage. They looked and acted like beasts on the surface, but there was an unknown dimension to them, like the inside of a black hole.

As the platform took him up, the first set of doors automatically opened above him. There was another set above that, which was presumably the final barrier. Several seconds later, this was confirmed. The last set of doors opened and he could see the ceiling he recognized. Spilman smiled.

The platform halted when it was level with the floor of the cell. Spilman immediately saw one of them, who he judged to be Lizzie, based on her position on the ceiling several meters away. She gave a low hiss and dropped down in an elegant swirling motion. Of course she had detected his presence.

Ripper seemed to be behind him, as he could also hear some movement coming from there. He put the Jolly Roger down slowly, and carefully turned around to see if he was right.

There she was, even nearer to him than Lizzie, crouching on all fours, seemingly ready to pounce. Spilman boldly decided to take some small steps toward her. He made sure that every movement he made happened in a steady flowing fashion and with minimal sound.

Something unexplained inside his head told him it was going to be alright. And so far, this something seemed to be correct. Ripper didn't leap forward to rip him to pieces. Instead, she remained in position, her tail swaying slowly.

There was a strange smell in here, and it wasn't the leftovers of rotting flesh. He could ascertain it more clearly as he drew a bit closer to Ripper. It seemed to originate from her. She smelled unusual, not unlike a large leaking battery.

Suddenly, Spilman could hear another hiss coming from Lizzie. It was a bit more like a shriek this time. He decided to move to the side, like he wasn't interested in them anymore. Nevertheless, Lizzie started to draw nearer.

Just as he turned his head, she rose to her hind legs only centimeters away from him. She had managed to cross a reasonable distance in a very short time span. It wasn't enough for her, though. The Xenomorph promptly grabbed Spilman by the shoulders with her slender clawed hands. Her strength was overwhelming, and she made no effort to restrain herself. Spilman felt her claws dig into him, but remained passive nevertheless.

The killing move didn't come, even though Spilman welcomed it. Unexpectedly, Ripper interrupted her counterpart by hissing at her. Whatever she was communicating, Lizzie didn't like it. Without warning, she violently tossed Spilman aside.

He slammed with his back into a wall, and fell to the ground. The force of the impact knocked the breath out of him. Also, it made him drop his cigarette. As he was lying on the floor, coughing, the two Xenomorphs growled and shrieked at each other like they were about to start a fight. For a moment, they paid him no attention whatsoever.

Lizzie seemed to be far more enraged than Ripper. The latter used her claws and her tail to keep her counterpart at bay. They slashed and grabbed at each other, until Lizzie eventually drove Ripper back.

Meanwhile, Spilman had crawled over towards his still smoldering cigarette. He wasn't going to let it go to waste. After managing to inhale a single time, he was once again interrupted. Ripper, who had been forced into his direction by Lizzie, was facing away from him, when she put one of her clawed feet down onto his back. He was now lying flat on his chest, unable to get up due to her immense strength, when she kicked him away, the claws ripping up the back of his jumpsuit.

After hitting another part of the wall, he was beginning to feel like a rag doll. To make matters worse, he heard the distinctive sound of the gas release system being activated, and decided it was probably best to stay near the floor. When the plumes of gas shot down, both Ripper and Lizzie shrieked and broke up their fight.

One of them ended up crouching on the floor near him. She stared at him with her eyeless shiny forehead. Though he had not been able to follow their exact movements, he knew it had to be Ripper, for she did not attempt to attack him. He moved his hand, perhaps foolishly, in an attempt to touch her, but he couldn't reach that far.

Once the gas stopped being released, it seemed that Lizzie accepted defeat. She growled and retreated into the ceiling, after Ripper chased her momentarily. Several seconds after everything turned quiet, Spilman finally decided to stand up again. He was quite disheveled looking.

"Very impressive, Spilman." Dr. Morrison's voice suddenly echoed through the chamber. She sounded rather pompous. "You have definitely made this day worthwhile."

"Really?" Spilman whispered with a deranged smile. "I can get you some interactive TV as well."

Spilman resumed his steady movement pattern and walked over towards his Jolly Roger. The device had been kicked over during the fight. After a brief inspection, he concluded that it should be working fine, and turned it on.

Next, he set it down and took the antenna into his hand. It was attached to the JR with a long cable that would give him plenty of range. As he began walking around the chamber, he scanned the floor, the walls and the ceiling with the antenna, while eying the small CRT screen of the JR. As he did so, he took care to avoid getting too close to wherever Lizzie was in the ceiling.

Then he found it. Near the center of the chamber, at the floor level, there was a signal. The JR displayed three columns of numbers when the antenna was close to this area. He knew what he had to do.

Ripper watched patiently from the sidelines as Spilman worked. The latter left the antenna behind and walked back to the device. There, he stared at the screen, to work out the algorithm and the code inside his head. It took a while, but he eventually managed it. He subsequently adjusted some knobs on the device and moved the antenna connector over to the output port instead of the input port.

At last the tables were turned. The illumination inside the chamber switched over to a green hue, and the announcement channel was opened. He could hear panicked voices from wherever the main control room was. They seemed to indicate that their controls were no longer responding. Next, the elevator platform went down, and the doors stayed open.

Both Xenomorphs detected that something was happening to their habitat and drew closer to his position. After stopping about a meter away, they contemplated him for a moment. For some reason, they were completely silent. Spilman could not think quickly enough to come up with a response, before they crawled down into the shaft and disappeared out of sight.

Once they were gone, Spilman made a little bow while saying to no one in particular: "At your service."


	4. Freedom

**This story is primarily written for entertainment purposes. All copyrights belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Freedom**

"Spilman, you have had your fun for today. I order you to undo your actions, right now!" the voice of Dr. Morrison commanded over the announcement channel.

"Nobody orders me around anymore. So there's really nothing I can do for you, doc." Spilman said with a quasi-innocent but nonetheless mischievous face, whilst shrugging and holding up his hands.

"This isn't over." she announced confidently. Afterwards, only the panicked voices of other scientists could be heard in the background.

Meanwhile, some loud bashing sounds could be heard. It wasn't coming from the speakers. Instead, it appeared to be coming from the Xenomorphs, who were no doubt searching for a way out of this maze. The subsequent sounds of breaking plastic and bending metal indicated to him that they had succeeded. He decided to wait right here and see what would happen.

It wasn't long before the scientists were flushed out. At least six of them, some armed with pistols, appeared in one of the four security points and subsequently locked the door behind them. Spilman did not know any of them by name, although he had likely seen a few before. In any case, Morrison wasn't with this group.

It wasn't long before they noticed him sitting on the pile of rocks in the center of the former prison cell. They shot him looks ranging from pleading to ferocious. Spilman was unaffected by all of it. He remained quite comfortable where he was, although he was much rather sitting in Morrison's office chair.

Another loud bash could be heard; this time it did come from the speakers. All microphones were still open, and they were broadcasting into the central chamber where Spilman could hear it all.

"It's not going to hold! Prepare yourselves!" One of the armed scientists shouted to the others. Seconds later, Spilman could see that the nearby door was being forced up. Two black and clawed hands held it up long enough for the other Xenomorph to crawl into the room.

Momentarily worried that the pistol shots would harm the aliens, Spilman was quickly impressed that they shrugged off the bullets as if they were only flea bites.

Due to the chaos that quickly erupted, he could not properly make out who was doing what in that small room. Additional shots were fired, resulting in muzzle flashes. The ceiling lights went out, after a tail appeared to have shot upwards. Many screams and screeches echoed. Blood and brains spattered across windows. Arms flailed and subsequently went limp. And then the silence returned.

Now that Spilman focused on it, he could detect that it wasn't completely silent. Some moaning could be heard. Without warning, the ones who made those noises were quickly dragged out of the room by their legs. They attempted to grab hold of anything and everything they could reach, but it was in vain. Soon, all that was left in the room were dead bodies.

Spilman felt most unusual. He wasn't shocked or scared. He felt as if he had done a great deed. Something magnificent, almost divine, had happened. He felt like an artist who had created a brilliant masterpiece, which was beyond any comprehensible morality.

Once the immediate effects of this revelation wore off, Spilman remembered where he was. "That chair… it's _my_ chair now." he said to himself, thinking about Morrison's office chair.

Just when he wanted to leave the chamber, there was a sudden burst of activity at another one of the security points. Both Lizzie and Ripper were screeching as they appeared to be fleeing from something. Spilman's eyes widened. What could be so horrible that it would make them retreat? The answer soon reared its ugly head.

The formerly nervous and stuttering scientist Wilson, once again wearing his bomb suit, appeared to have gained the upper hand. He was armed with a large flamethrower supported by a chest-mounted harness, and seemed to have finally snapped completely.

"THAT'S RIGHT, BITCHES! YOU'RE GOING TO BE ALL CRISPY WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU! AND THEN I'M GOING TO GOBBLE YOU UP!" he shouted, after which he started laughing like a maniac.

He managed to force them into the dead-end of the security point, setting half the room on fire as he did so. And then he closed and locked the flaming door, trapping them inside with the inferno.

Spilman was definitely alarmed now. "Aw, fuck! That cockhead's going to ruin everything!" he called out, as he hurriedly climbed down the ladder into the elevator shaft. He knew he had to get there and help them out, or it would all be over.

There were many doors in between here and where he needed to go. Some of them were still locked. Although he had taken the Jolly Roger with him, he did not have the patience to use the device to hack them open. Instead he preferred to take a longer route via unlocked doors, if he couldn't get a locked one open with the code that Wilson had provided.

As he was running, he seemed to be unable to catch his breath. This slowed him down somewhat. It became even worse when he started getting coughing fits. All those cigarettes were working against him now. This made him realize something important.

"The sprinklers…where the fuck are they?" he spat out, as he wondered why they hadn't gone off. They must be managed by a different system. This Wilson bastard had no doubt turned them off before his rampage.

The next time he moved past a manual sprinkler activation point, he broke the glass with his fist and pulled the lever. Water started raining out of the ceiling, so at least there was still pressure, even if all the sensors were turned off.

At last he made it to the corridor where they were trapped. Wilson was nowhere to be seen, and appeared to have left all the doors open through which he had escaped. Though this seemed curious to him, Spilman did not dwell on the thought, and instead focused on what really needed to be done.

He quickly broke the glass and pulled the lever the second he spotted the activation point. While water rained down on him, he looked to the end of the corridor. The locked door, behind which the aliens were trapped, looked battered, blackened and deformed, as did its control panel. There was no sign of life beyond it.

The water had also rained down on the Jolly Roger and he didn't dare to turn it on as it might short out. There was, however, a metal panel cover set into the center of the door. Using the screwdriver end of a multi-tool he always carried with him, he removed all bolts, after which the panel fell off.

Behind it was a manual override handle, which he promptly pulled down. The door only budged up for about a third of a meter, before coming to a grinding stop. After dropping to the ground, he looked inside. The sprinklers were also activated inside the room, which was a bit of a relief to him. Only when he came face to face with one of the Xenomorphs, did he feel fully relieved.

Whether it was Lizzie or Ripper facing him didn't matter right now. Her eyeless face revealed nothing more than the fact she was still alive. She was the first of them to pull her head back. Without hesitation, she then put her shoulder between the door and the floor, and looked to be putting effort into lifting it up. Spilman used both his hands to help pull up the door. They got it to move far enough so that she could slide underneath it while lying on her side.

Once she was out, she remained crouched on the ground in silence, while her counterpart also started to slide out of the fire-damaged room. Spilman now thought he knew which one was which. The one crouching in front of him was Ripper. She seemed to be extending her head towards him. Perhaps now he could do what he had been unable to do before.

He reached out, moving slowly and steadily the entire time, and touched the front of her shiny, domed head. She partially opened her mouth and hissed lightly. Her forehead was neither warm nor cold. It felt like a kind of glassy rubber. Most noteworthy were the subtle vibrations he could feel beneath his palm and fingers, like she was sensing or communicating something.

Just when he was wondering what Lizzie would think of all of this, did he notice her rising up. She had her mouth wide open, showing the peculiar inner set of jaws on her tongue. She was shaking as if extremely angered and about to attack. Spilman could still accept the end if this was it, although he felt they could have accomplished so much more together.

Ripper seemed to think so too. As if on cue, she grabbed Lizzie's forearm tightly, her claws digging in. Lizzie immediately screeched and pulled her arm free. It was only then that Spilman noticed Lizzie had probably injured this same arm. Though it wasn't discolored, it did look a bit coarse if the light fell upon it in a certain way. Maybe she did get some burns.

It seemed this was enough for Lizzie to be convinced that Ripper didn't allow him to be harmed. The former was the first to leave, running away on all fours. Ripper paid Spilman no further attention, and promptly followed her.

As Ripper was leaving, he could see that she was wounded as well, particularly her left leg. This did not appear to slow her down, though.

After retrieving the Jolly Roger, he was suddenly startled by a woman's voice loudly making an announcement over the speaker system.

"Danger." she said, as an alarm started blaring and the orange rotating beacon lights on the corridor ceiling sprang to life. "The emergency destruct system is now activated. The ship will detonate in T-minus ten minutes. The option to override automatic detonation expires in T-minus five minutes."

"Not good." Spilman muttered to himself. He put up a middle finger to someone who was invisible. "Fuck you, Wilson."

He now understood that Wilson had left some of the doors open probably because he was in a hurry to get to the ship's self-destruct system. Although Spilman had no experience as a member of a star freighter crew, he knew that a blast resulting from a reactor detonation of a large ship like the CM-88B wasn't to be underestimated. It would probably level this entire facility, including the outlying radio telescope dishes.

Knowing he had no time to waste, Spilman ran to the nearest emergency exit. He took one of the emergency helmets, put it on, closed the visor, flicked up the red cover on its chin and smashed the button underneath. The helmet sealed itself around his neck with the sounds of gases being vented. This indicated to him it was operational.

After typing in the code and opening the exit door, he found himself standing on a small metal plateau at the side of the research module. Looking down, he could see the grey, rough-patterned industrial hull of the actual ship.

"Fuck, that's far away." he exclaimed in frustration. A ship of this type was more than 300 meters long. He understood he had to give everything he had to make it there on time and still be able to turn the cooling system back on. He immediately took the nearest ladder down.

He planned to make his way across the outer hull of the spacecraft and then hopefully find a maintenance access hatch. If he would go down from there to the engineering control room, he should be able to stop it. There were a lot of ifs in this plan, but at least he only had to cross half of the ship's hull. The control room was a lot nearer to the engines than the bridge was.

After crossing the extended docking arm, he noticed yellow and black diagonal lines up ahead. They indeed marked the presence of an access hatch as he already suspected. Using the manual override handles, he managed to open the outer door and subsequently climbed inside.

It was a tiny airlock that housed a single spacesuit and some toolkits. The alarm and rotating beacon lights were also active here. After cycling the airlock and discarding his helmet, he opened the bottom door. Behind it there was nothing but a dark vertical shaft with a ladder.

Realizing what needed to be done in order to make it down there on time, he ripped off parts of his jumpsuit sleeve and wrapped the pieces of cloth around his hands. Holding the handle of the Jolly Roger clenched between his teeth, he felt a bit like a pirate about to illegally board a ship. Nothing about this situation made him feel it was anything more than a dumb idea, though.

Without hesitation, he started the long slide down. He didn't know the distance exactly, but it had to be at least fifty meters. The shaft was dark and mostly silent, with only the alarm wailing in the distance telling him that he wasn't descending into some dark hole in the ground.

It was a good thing he was looking down, because the bottom was dimly illuminated and he could see it rapidly approaching. He managed to slow himself somewhat, but he still slammed down hard on his feet. Ignoring the stinging for now, he guessed that he would probably need a couple of days to recover from this whole ordeal anyway.

After hitting a nearby button with his fist, the hatch began making grinding noises and opened slowly like the aperture of a photo camera. Once he had climbed out, he found himself in a narrow and poorly lit corridor of what he hoped was C-deck. Coolant was being vented, making overall visibility very poor. There were, however, several pictograms of the old semiotic standard visible on the walls, including the direction of the engineering control room.

He ran down the last corridor, not knowing if he would pass out before getting there. Then finally, he found a door opening. A hatch in the floor nearby was open and four control rods were up. Various screens showed an orange octagon with a cross and a counter. This room had windows from which he could look out into the huge chamber that housed the reactor.

Just as he was catching his breath and looking for some instructions, the woman's voice made another announcement: "The option to override automatic detonation expires in T-minus one minute."

"Alright." Spilman said to himself through gritted teeth. He crouched down near the rods and began reading the instructions on the inside of the hatch.

First he pressed some buttons to reinitialize the reactor coolant system. Once completed, the rods started moving down on their own, until only the upper sections were sticking out. He now needed to enable the individual cooling units. This was accomplished by pressing a single button on each of the rods. It took him several seconds to figure out where those buttons were until he realized he had to move a metal half-cylinder out of the way.

"Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…" the voice announced menacingly.

After pressing these rod buttons, the upper sections allowed themselves to be pushed inwards, which he did as soon as he could. The system then needed to be told that all cooling units were enabled, and that the flow could be restarted. He managed to do the first part, but for the second part he could not find the associated levers.

"Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten seconds…" the voice continued.

"There!" he called out, suddenly spotting four large levers sticking out of the wall. No doubt did they have to be placed back into their orange-colored sockets. He jumped over and pushed the first one in. It moved so slowly and heavily that he rammed his shoulder into the next one.

"Five, four, three…"

Spilman dropped onto his back and stamped on the final two levers at the same time.

"The detonation sequence has been overridden. The reactor coolant system is now reactivated."

He just remained flat on his back on the ground, as the alarm ceased. Still out of breath, he muttered: "Let's… not… do that… again."

That wasn't the end of it, however. The voice continued: "Warning, coolant levels are below the threshold required for normal reactor operation. Reactor will remain stable in low power mode. Initiating low power mode now."

At least he wasn't in interstellar space, or he would have had a serious problem. This low power mode meant the engines could not be activated unless the coolant was refilled. It was a good thing he didn't need to go anywhere with this ship.

* * *

An hour might very well have passed before Spilman found enough strength to leave the ship and go back to the research module. This time around he was in no hurry. He had seen no sign of Wilson, Morrison, or anyone else for that matter. In fact, the first person he came across wasn't human. He had just taken off his emergency helmet inside the module, when a Xenomorph showed herself.

For a moment she peeked out from a hole in the ceiling, before dropping down onto the floor like the maneuver was part of an elegant dance of some kind. Perhaps it was due to fatigue that he realized too late that so far he had only seen Lizzie exhibit this kind of behavior. By now, she had already grabbed his shoulders tightly.

Before he could react, she spat a thick substance into his face. Although he normally wasn't easily disgusted, it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. At least it didn't take very long before everything started fading. He had been very tired anyway, so he did not resist.

* * *

Spilman awoke in a pitch-black environment. He couldn't help but wonder if he was dead. Considering this idea for several seconds, he soon dismissed it, because he could still reason, and feel his overexerted body.

After trying to frown, he noticed his eyelids were shut by some kind of resin-like substance. He could feel he was sitting with his back against a hard surface. Something was lying on his lap. His hands and arms were free, so he first tried to remove the resin from his face. There was some of the stuff on his nose and mouth as well.

Carefully, he first took care of one eye. Once he could open it, he saw a semi-dark room. He was still inside a human-made structure, but it was a bit harder to tell than usual. Sections of the floor, walls and ceiling were covered in some kind of organic growths. He had to conclude he wasn't sitting on the floor as he had initially imagined. Instead, he was in some kind of alcove in the middle of this organic wall.

It was very warm and humid in here. This had to be the Xenomorphs' lair. What else could it be? The leaking battery smell was in here, along with other less welcome smells. His suspicions were confirmed when he looked down to see just what was lying on his lap. There were two inhuman legs. He could draw no other conclusion than that she was using him as a pillow to support her injured feet. The left foot was particularly badly burned.

Ripper was lying or hanging partially sprawled out to the right of him. It was a very alien posture. He didn't know how she was keeping herself in place, but somehow she managed. It looked like she could fall out of the alcove any second.

There was no discernable activity from her. He couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. He wasn't even sure if their breathing was comparable to that of humans. Maybe they had air gills or something?

In any case, she appeared to be out cold. There was no reason for him to believe she was dead; it was far more likely she was just resting.

He took a closer look at her injuries. There were charred sections on both feet. After touching such a spot very lightly with one fingertip, he noticed small blackened particles falling off. He brushed lightly over the charring and discovered that beneath it was new skin in perfect condition. Either he had been in here for a very long time, or she was healing very fast.

"That piece of shit Wilson. How dare he do this to you?" he whispered assuredly to her. "No matter, you're getting better already. Such a perfect being you are."

He attempted to lift her feet off himself. Overall, her skin felt bony and hard. The unburnt skin was a bit moist, but not really slimy. If he didn't know any better, he could have mistaken them for robotic appendages if viewed from a distance.

Looking up close, though, they were quite clearly organic. He now realized that what he had initially believed to be the second knee was actually the heel. Her feet were somewhat elongated compared to a human's and her heels never touched the ground when she walked.

As he lifted them up slowly, he noticed the claws moving a bit, but there was no other protest from her. Once he had put her feet gently down beside himself, he attempted to stand up. It was a lot more difficult than he had expected.

For one, his jumpsuit was sticking to the wall. Also, his legs felt as if they were dying away, as did his head. He was beginning to comprehend he was very thirsty and hungry. And even worse: he appeared to have lost his pack of cigarettes.

After finally managing to get up, Spilman paused momentarily, trying to fully take in this serene, alien environment and etch it into his memory. A lot had happened. He had survived where others had died. The Xenomorphs had chosen him, but for what he didn't know. However, he wasn't one of them. He couldn't stay here indefinitely; he had to take care of himself.

He slid down from the alcove as quietly as he could. The floor was only a meter down. Just when he was wondering where he had left his Jolly Roger, he saw the device partially embedded in the wall nearby. The Xenomorphs really did know everything about whom or what had made their escape possible, it seemed. Once he had carefully pulled it out, he broke off some large chunks of resin from it. Ripper didn't stir the entire time. Once finished, he looked back one last time, before leaving the room in silence.

Lizzie was nowhere to be seen. She wasn't in the next room either. There was something else there though: lots of resin and slime. Also, there were bulbous things on the walls; cocoons with people in them.

Some people weren't in a cocoon, but were nonetheless restrained by the resin. Unlike the situation where he had found himself in, they seemed to be really trapped. One of them was even awake.

"Please…get me out. You… have to… please." the woman scientist pleaded desperately in a shrill voice. Spilman reacted by forcibly covering her mouth with his hand.

"Be quiet. I can't help you. It's what you deserve. You must stay here." he hissed curtly, before letting go of her. When she started wailing, he increased his pace and walked for as long as it took for the sound to disappear.

So they don't just kill people, they also cocoon them? What could possibly be the purpose of that? A slow death? Spilman contemplated these questions as he searched for the nearest water tap.

Once he had found and drank some water, he began to wonder if he had gone too far with all of this. He had never really thought about any of the consequences. If people learned of his role in this series of events, he would be considered a monster.

On the other hand, what was so bad about that? Spilman the Wicked. Spilman, the Destroyer of Dreams. He liked the sound of it. All he needed was a trail of destruction, and rumors would spread.

Space station Quintilis, the bane of their operation on JT-202, would be a good place to start. The next target could very well be one of the main offices of Weyland-Yutani. A star freighter was at his disposal. It needed some repairs and a crew, but those things were not out of reach if he put some effort into it. Spilman suddenly formed an ear to ear smile.

* * *

Inside the service corridor, the outer door of the main complex finally opened after a series of knocks. Behind the door was that grease-ball with his invasive nose.

"Bloody fucking hell… Spilman?!" Noser exclaimed incredulously. "Heard you were dead! Where the fuck did you come from?"

Spilman snorted nonchalantly before deciding to humor him by replying with some actual words. "I've been hanging around, laying low, stuff like that."

"I would hug you man… It's just that… you look like shit… you smell like shit too. Have you been living in a cave, or what?" Noser asked, initially carefully, but quickly deciding to drop the attempt to suppress his natural bluntness.

"I need a cigarette… and a drink. And then I'll tell you all about my plan to turn the tables on the company."


End file.
